Infatuation fades but never dies.
Its embers smolder, sometimes flaming up
but less intense each time again they rise
and sooner dampened from despairing cup.

A would be love refuses to turn loose
though what it loves is but its own desire,
a first unfelt but ever tighter noose
that later strangles good but gentles dire.

What might have been will overwhelm what is
for all past ifs can have no future use,
poor answers not acceptable on quiz,
sad markers of a wasting time abuse.

Potential is a blessing or a curse,
a guide to better or a lure to worse.